


What Lies Ahead

by PuffleHuff90



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Book 2: Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Kidnapping, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-23
Updated: 2020-07-23
Packaged: 2021-03-05 10:53:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 12
Words: 20,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25469578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PuffleHuff90/pseuds/PuffleHuff90
Summary: It's was too late; Ginny was dead. Tom Riddle has been revived from the tattered pages of his old diary with one goal in mind; find his future self and restore him to full power. Kidnapping Harry, he plans to use the boy to find where the Dark Lord is hiding. After all, he was the last one to speak with him. What lies ahead for young Harry Potter?
Comments: 1
Kudos: 8





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I accidentally deleted the entire thing. Soo here we go again! These will be short chapters in hopes that I don't get bogged down and lose interest. Please review!

Her skin was white as snow and just as cold to the touch beneath his numb fingers. Her mouth, once the perfect shade of pink, had been drained into the slightest of blues. In complete contrast, her flaming red hair, darkened by the surrounding water, lay pillowed beneath her as if cradling her head from the stone floor. No movement came from her chest: no beat of the heart, no pull from the lungs. Instead, an eery still had settled over her despite the boy's frantic attempts to rouse her from her eternal sleep. 

Harry abandoned his futile compressions against Ginny's chest, his arms aching from the adrenaline pumping through his veins. He had only seen CPR on Dudley's television shows; for all he knew he was going at it all wrong anyway. Grabbing for her wrist, his fingers wrapped around the icy skin. There was no pulse against his fingertips, but he begged her to wake up.

"Ginny, I'm here. Please wake up! Please.." 

A cool voice broke through his pleas. 

"She's gone, Harry." 

"No," Harry choked out. He swallowed against the rising lump obscuring his throat, but he couldn't fight back the burning that prickled the corner of his eyes. "No, no, no. Sh-she c-can't..." His words stammered together as his brain tried to process the rapidly changing world that was crashing down around him. 

A hand tightly gripped his shoulder, startling him to his unsteady feet. Arms flailing as if fighting off the unseen presence, Harry spun in the direction of the earlier voice. Standing before him was a teenager, dressed in Slytherin robes, a smug smile playing across his pale face. His black hair was combed to perfection completing his debonair look. Harry recognized him immediately, but how? How was he here? 

"T-Tom? How-" he questioned, brows furrowing in confusion. However, there was no time for questions. Shaking his head as to clear the thick fog clouding his mind, he quickly formed the only plan he could think of. "Help me get her upstairs. If I can just get her to Professor Dumbledore, he'll know-" 

High, cold laughter rang through the chamber, reverberating off every stone wall until it seemed to be coming from all directions. The chilling sound bristled the hair on the back of Harry's neck; it seemed impossible that it was coming from the teenager in front of him. "Dumbledore can't save her now," the older boy said with a sickening smirk. 

Harry's stomach plummeted. Nausea swept over him as he looked back at Ginny's body spread out on the floor. Something wasn't right. "What do you mean," he asked feebly. 

"Well, you see Harry, Ginny has spent the entire year pouring her soul out to a certain dairy. Every day she confided in it; telling it all her little secrets: all about the sweet, adorable, famous Harry Potter who would never notice her."

Tom stepped forward and stooping, retrieved a tattered black book from beside Ginny's open hand. Smiling fondly, he looked it over before raising his eyes back to Harry who stood rooted to the spot, unable to speak.

"I was there to give her advice. I gave her a shoulder to cry on. I gave her everything she desired just by listening to all her petty childhood problems. Until," he paused here, a wicked gleam shining in his dark eyes. "Until one day, I decided I'd had enough giving. It was my turn to take something from her. We started out small of course. Roosters are fairly easy to kill, but she didn't seem too fond of the mess it made." 

Pocketing the old diary, Tom took an advancing step towards Harry, careful to step over Ginny's lifeless form. His hungry gaze was locked on Harry's face that had suddenly drained to an ashen grey; understanding clearly rising to the surface. The boy shook his head, but Tom continued with a playful laugh. 

"Petrifying the squib's cat was a little more difficult, but even with the paint staining her robes, she had no idea what she had done. Oh, she had her suspicions, but she was very good at denying them. It wasn't until the next attack that she began to stop trusting her diary." 

"N..No," Harry stammered out. " She wouldn't-" 

"No, she wouldn't," agreed Tom. "But I would." 

Tom stopped toe-to-toe with Harry, looking down at him with an excited expression. There was something off about that look, but setting his jaw, Harry held his ground. 

"You made her attack everyone. You opened the Chamber of Secrets, not Hagrid," said Harry, clenching his fist at his sides. Anger boiled up in place of his fear.

"Not as slow as you seem, Harry," Tom said amusedly. "Yes, in both cases it was easy. With each new journal entry, Ginny gave me part of her soul, and, in return, I gave her a piece of mine. Soon she became too feeble to fight, and that's when I had her write her own farewell note and come down here. I was finally strong enough to leave those tattered pages and she was too weak to resist." 

Without a second thought, Harry plunged his hand inside his pocket, fishing for his wand. However, he found his pockets completely empty. Heart beating violently in his ears, he tore his gaze away from the boy in front of him and peered helplessly around the floor for any sign of where he may have dropped it. 

"Looking for something?" 

The rhythmic thump of wood striking skin repeatedly, caught Harry's attention and he looked down to see Tom tapping the wand against his splayed palm. An immense dread flooded Harry's senses, as he stared down at the only weapon that could possibly save him from his current situation. The defeat must have shown in his eyes because Riddle let out another cruel laugh. 

"Now, the question is what do I do with you?" Tom used the wand to swipe the bangs back from Harry's forehead, revealing the thin lightning bolt scar. "Young Ginny told me all about what you've done; how you've defeated the Dark Lord twice now. What I want to know is how?" Like throwing switch, his tone changed from playful to furious.

Harry aggressively pushed the wand away from his head. "Why do you care, " he growled.

"Haven't you figured it out yet, " he asked as if scolding a child. "I am Lord Voldemort." 

Stunned, Harry took half a step back as his mind whirled with information. Standing in front of him was the boy who would grow up to murder his parents. Hatred grew inside of him until he could fight it no longer. Diving forward, he aimed to tackle the teen to the floor, but a red light hit him mid-step, driving him painfully to his knees. Air puffed from his nose as he fought the invisible hold keeping him tethered to the wet stone. 

"I must confess, I intended to kill you tonight, Harry, " said Tom, looking down at the boy kneeling before him. "However, it occurs to me you might have some information that would be useful in my search for what's left of my future self." 

"I'm not helping you," Harry ground out through gritted teeth. 

Tom sat back on his haunches and smiled broadly, his perfect teeth barred. " Who said you had a choice?" 

Before Harry could reply, Tom raised the wand and with another flash of red, the world turned dark.


	2. Two

Harry lay perfectly still, his heart hammering a violent beat against the ribs imprisoning it. He strained his ears, listening for any sign of movement; for any sign that what he remembered was just a nightmare. The image of Ginny laying lifeless on a wet stone floor burned in his mind, but it was just a dream. He prayed for it to just be a dream. Any minute now the other boys in his dorm would begin stirring, bustling around as they prepared for their morning lessons. Ron would be throwing a pillow at him in a rude attempt to wake him up. However, he was painfully aware that his bed had become hard as stone, and there was a warmth on his skin accompanied by the soft crackle of burning wood. 

Harry forced his eyes to open and blearily took in his surroundings. To his surprise, his glasses were still on, though slightly askew from laying on his side. He was curled into a ball on a scratchy hearth-rug; a large fire burned in the open rock fireplace before him. He blinked several times, trying to piece together the rapidly fading details of what he could remember before he had blacked out. 

"Finally awake, Harry?" 

Startled by the sudden noise, Harry quickly sat up and searched the room for the source of the voice. Sitting at a small table, legs crossed casually, was Tom. He had abandoned his Hogwarts robes and was now dressed in dark slacks and a green jumper. He was absent-mindedly flipping through the blank pages of his diary, his dark eyes fixed on Harry. Spread out in front of him, and occupying most of the wooden tabletop, was a large map. 

Harry made to stand, but the room tilted abruptly under his feet and he was forced back to the rug. He sat cross-legged clutching his temples as he closed his eyes in an attempt to settle his swirling vision, but it did little to ease the queasiness building in the pit of his stomach. After several steadying breaths, he was able to open his eyes to a level room. He pried his stiff hard apart to speak, but his tongue was unusually heavy, and his words spilled out in a jumbled mess. 

Riddle laughed his high merciless laugh and, uncrossing his legs, leaned forward in his chair. His eyes were bright with eagerness, like a shark closing in on a wounded prey.

"It's just the spell wearing off. You'll be back to normal shortly," he said amusedly. "Until then, there are a few details I'm hoping you can help me with. Ginny was very generous with the information she had on you, but she was ill-informed on certain areas that I wanted answered. First, how did you manage to defeat The Dark Lord when you were only a baby?" A coldness had entered Tom's voice, replacing the airy, playful persona. 

"I-I'm not sure," Harry croaked, forcing the words past his dry throat. "Professor Dumbledore said something about my mother protecting me." 

Tom sat back, and for a long minute studied the boy in front of him with a speculating frown upon his face. "It's old magic, " he said finally and Harry was surprised to see a smile reforming on his thin lips. "But I guess it would do it. So, there's nothing spectacular about you after all. You're just a normal boy who got lucky." 

"And last year," asked Harry, heat rising to his cheeks. 

The smile on Riddle's face soured, but he forced it to remain. "Sheer dumb luck, boy," he said coldly. "But no matter, you can still prove yourself useful. Where is The Dark Lord hiding?" 

Harry shrugged his shoulders and shook his head shortly. "No idea." 

Pursing his lips, Tom rose to his feet and walked towards Harry. "You may not know the exact location, but I know you've heard theories on his whereabouts." Stooping to eye level, he withdrew Harry's wand from inside his pocket. 

Glancing at the wand, Harry furrowed his brows in confusion. "Even if I have, why would I tell you," he asked incredulously. 

A wicked sneer spread across the teen's face which was now inches from Harry's. "You're in your second year, correct? Barely learned how to disarm an opponent?" Harry could hear the ridicule in the question but refused to rise to the bait. " Should I give you a taste of some real magic? The kind that loosens tongues?" 

A hand clenched Harry's stomach, and he fought back the fear that was rapidly consuming him. He was suddenly all too aware of how little he actually knew about magic. Was there really a spell that could make someone spill their secrets? Would it hurt him or would it simply make him tell the truth? Either way, he had no desire to find out. 

"The only thing I know is that Professor Quirell met him during his travels." 

"And where was he traveling?" 

"I…I don't…" Harry racked his muddled mind for details. Someone had mentioned a place, but he could not grasp the name of it. Panic sent his brain into overdrive as the tip of the wand pressed against his temple. Suddenly a light came on. "Al…Albania," he stuttered. 

Apparently satisfied, Tom stood and returned to study the map on the table. With one hand he drummed a rhythmless beat against the hardwood as the other traced countries with the tip of the wand. 

Harry took advantage of his captor's inattention and surveyed the area where he was being held. Besides the table Riddle was using, there were only two other pieces of furniture. A tattered black wardrobe and matching bed were crammed into what was left of the tiny room. The walls, which appeared to be rough cut lumber, were stained with years of grime and cobwebs adorned the four corners of the low hanging ceiling. The lack of a kitchen, or lavatory it seemed, suggested they were in some dingy inn that didn't receive many guests. Spotting a window near the foot of the bed, Harry unsteadily pulled himself to his feet. 

Riddle paid him no mind as he crossed the room in four steps and peered out the filth smudged glass. It was pitch black, but Harry could see the tops of many trees swaying in the wind below. However, it was the nearby street lamp that told him the most about their location. It's flickering bulb cast an eery yellow glow on the dusty road that wound around the bend and out of sight. 

"We're in a muggle inn," Harry asked out loud. He turned to look at Tom who was still muttering to himself as he peered over the map. "I thought you wanted nothing to do with muggles." 

"Necessity, Potter," he replied without glancing up. 

"So where are we exactly?" 

Harry had barely gotten the question out before Tom let out an exasperated sigh and, rolling his eyes towards Harry, fixed him with an annoyed stare. "Somewhere Dumbledore won't think to look. However, it doesn't matter. We're leaving." 

"Leaving," Harry asked in shock."Already?" 

"If your information is correct," he said while folding the map and placing it inside the black diary. "There are a few areas in Albania that we can start our search."

"I've told you everything I know," Harry implored. "There's no reason for me to go." 

Tom ambled forward, his perfect white teeth bared. It wasn't a true smile. It was the look a person gave when they were trying with immense difficulty not to strangle someone. "You may still be needed. For all I know, you have fed me the wrong location on purpose. Plus," he paused, eyes narrowing and voice dropping to a whisper. The look he now held sent an icy wave down Harry's spine. "I'm sure my older self is eager to speak with you."


	3. Three

Harry was suffocating. Air was forced from his body as giant bands squeezed around him; the immense pressure building until he thought his head would explode. He clenched his eyes tight despite the impenetrable darkness that had swallowed him whole, hoping that his eyeballs would not erupt from their sockets. Despite his desperate attempts to draw a breath, his lungs refused to expand. He was going to die. 

Suddenly, cool night air flooded his lungs and he took in several long gasps of it. Eyes streaming, he doubled over in a coughing fit, sputtering as he tried to regain his bearings. However, a tight grip on his bicep pulled him forwards as they set off down a gravel-strewn road. Ahead he could see ottoman style buildings stair-stepped into a hillside; scattered lights beamed in the dark despite the late hour. A river roared to their left, filling the night with the sounds of rushing water. It would have been a splendid sight if it had not been for the fact that Harry was being dragged down the street by a mad man. 

"Ow. I can walk just fine on my own," Harry hissed while attempting to pull his arm from the fingers digging into his skin.

"Just a second ago you couldn't even stand on your own," Tom pointed out amusedly. 

Stopping immediately, Harry stood his ground in the middle of the road. "What's keeping me from yelling for help? The muggles," he nodded towards the buildings looming above. "They could hear me." 

Riddle dropped Harry's arm with a long sigh, agitation clear on his young face. Turning, he was silhouetted by the streetlights behind him, his shadow stretching out to Harry's feet. "By all means, Potter, give it a go. However, before you do let me give you a couple of different outcomes. First, the muggles rush down here and save you from whatever monster stole you away. They notice you're not from here, and they also notice no one has reported you missing. Strange, a young boy ended up in Albania without anyone caring about his absence." He paused here and, leaning in closer, continued. "Second, you scream and I kill you. The muggles find a young boy dead in the streets but no one knows who he is or where he came from. It's a mystery for the ages. Personally, I prefer the second one." His lips curled in a wicked smile. 

Stiffening, Harry glared at Tom for a long hard minute; his mind whirling for an alternative solution. He couldn't continue willing following Riddle, knowing that every step he took led him closer to witnessing Voldemort's return; however, at the young age of twelve, death seemed impossibly scary. He stared into those dark pitiless eyes, knowing that he only had one choice. He dropped his eyes in defeat; his body seemingly deflated with surrender. 

"Good choice," Tom gloated and he motioned Harry to step in front of him. 

Harry, like any child who had lost an argument would do, stomped ahead of the teenager, arms crossed and hands buried deep in his armpits. He allowed himself to be marched up the street until they met an intersection that ran along the lower tier of buildings. Here, Tom grabbed his shoulder in a silent command to stop as he peered down the strip of road; first to the left then to his right. 

"What are we looking for," groaned Harry.

"An inn, Potter," came the short reply as Tom pushed him to the left and they continued down an empty sidewalk.

They passed block after block of bright white buildings, all with lightless windows that reflected the pair walking determinedly onwards. Harry caught himself staring into these windows, wondering silently what their inhabitants were doing. Were they sleeping? Were they lying awake, tossing and turning? What if they knew that right outside their door a boy was being marched to his unmistakable doom? 

A solid stream of yellow light brought him back from his ponderings. Tom grabbed his shoulder again and they came to a stop in front of one of the few buildings with lights on. Unlike the rest of the houses, its white walls had faded into an ugly shade of yellow; the paint was peeling in several areas as if it had been neglected for the past few years. Overhead a sign swung creakily in the breeze; the letters had long since been stripped away but Harry managed to make out the word 'lodging' at the bottom of the cracked wood. 

"Alright, we're going to go in and get a room. You are not to speak, make gestures, or draw attention to yourself in any way. So much as open your mouth and I'll kill you and the clerk." He pulled Harry back a step until the unmistakable tip of a wand dug into the boy's back. Leaning forward slightly, he spoke directly into his ear. "Do I make myself clear, Potter?" 

Harry nodded shortly but the wand dug painfully into his spine. "Got it," he snapped irritably between gritted teeth. 

The inside of the inn proved to be no less shabby than the outside. The main sitting area was cramped; the entire room was packed with derelict armchairs and rickety end tables. An overwhelming smell of mothballs met them, and Harry wrinkled his nose in disgust. In a way, it reminded him of Mrs. Figg's house back on Privet Drive. A small check-in counter sat to their left and Tom silently directed Harry to it. 

A young boy, Harry presumed he was in his early twenties, was reclined behind the desk; headphones were clamped over his ears and his head bobbed to the unheard music. He seemed completely oblivious to the fact that anyone else was in the room. Tom rapped the counter impatiently, startling the clerk to attention. He quickly pulled the headphones from his head and smiled apologetically. 

"Mirësevini në…" 

"Sorry," Tom interrupted politely with a wave of his free hand. "We don't speak Albanian." 

"Ah. Room?" The simple question spoken in a rough accent led Harry to believe that clerk knew little English. 

"Yes, just one," Riddle replied, holding up a single finger. 

"Identification?" 

Tom's gentlemanly smile wavered a bit around the edges but he hid it well. Splaying his hand, he shrugged with a grimace. "Lost." 

The clerk's eyes darted between Harry and Riddle for a minute as if confused. Apparently, a teenager accompanied by a young boy in the early morning hours was suspicious enough to draw its own attention. Harry felt the wand twist uncomfortably into his back. 

"No identification, no room." 

Abandoning the twisted grin, Riddle set his jaw in an icy scowl. His eyes flashed around the empty chairs, to the stairs, and then resettled on the boy behind the desk. "Have it your way," he said coldly. 

Withdrawing the wand from Harry's back, he pointed at the clerk and whispered, "Imperio." 

The boy's eyes slid out of focus and he stared blankly down at the ledger book before him. His narrow face no longer held any emotion; it was as if he'd fallen asleep with his eyes open. 

"One room for Smith," said Tom, and as he spoke the clerk wrote down the name next to an empty room on the ledger book. "Hand me the key." The clerk took a key from the rack behind him and handed it glassy-eyed over the tabletop. Snatching it with a renewed smirk, Riddle pushed a bewildered Harry towards the stairs. 

"W-what did you do to him," Harry stuttered in horror as he unwilling climbed to the first-floor landing. 

"Nothing he won't recover from," assured Riddle. "Second room on the left." 

Unconvinced, Harry turned to stare angrily up at the taller boy. "You said no one would get hurt as long as I played along. Well, I'm done playing along," he snapped louder than he had intended. 

Riddle's gaze shot around the empty corridor as he unlocked their door. When he was quite certain no one was looking, he grabbed Harry by the front of his shirt, fist balled deep into the worn fabric, and hauled him into the dark abyss. Kicking the door shut, he spun the boy and thrust his roughly against the wall. 

Harry's head bounced mercilessly off the wooden wall, bright explosions of stars obscured his vision of the surrounding room. He never saw the fist but a solid blow to the cheek sent his head reeling to the side as a wave of fire blushed his skin. Breathing heavily, he fought back the warm tears stinging his eyes. Another punch to the ribs caused him to cry out softly and his head slumped forward until his chin rested on his heaving chest. His assaulter's hands clamped to his shoulders, pinning him against the panel. 

"This isn't a game, Potter. Nobody's playing here," he hissed, leaning in until his lips brushed Harry's ear. "Make a scene again and you'll find out what I'm really capable of." He stepped back and, retreating to the only bed in the small room, laid down.

Harry crumpled to the floor, clutching his aching ribs and sniffling quietly. He took in several tentative breaths, and while they burned like fire, he was fairly sure nothing was broke. 

"Get some rest," Tom said from across the room as if nothing had happened. "Tomorrow the real fun begins."


	4. Four

Tick-tick, Tick-tick, Tick-tick. The old plastic clock above the bed ticked away the seconds of a day that had seemed impossibly long. Harry was lying on his back among the tattered moldy sheets, trying hard not to focus on that infernal ticking. It was the only sound in the room, save for the arguments being held beyond the paper-thin walls, and it had pushed Harry to the edge of insanity. It had been a constant reminder that his time alone was drawing to an end; that soon Tom would return from whatever it was he was doing. The uncertainty of it all made his stomach ache and without anything else to preoccupy his wandering mind, he had dwelled on that uncertainty all day. Would today be his last day? Would Riddle return angry and take his frustration out on him? Would he ever see his friends again? Tick-tick Tick-tick Tick-tick. 

He'd spent the entirety of Tom's absence looking for any form of escape. His first thought was to wait for housekeeping to arrive, but after several hours it became abundantly clear that no one was coming. He had then proceeded to hammer on the walls in hopes that his neighbors would hear him. He had kicked, pounded, and screamed until his lungs burned, but nothing seemed to penetrate the feeble barrier that stood between him and freedom. His last resort came in a pathetic attempt of throwing his small body against the locked door. Despite the protest of his already bruised side, he heaved his shoulder against the dilapidated wood repeatedly until he could no longer stand. Finally, deflated with defeat, he had collapsed to the bed as tears streaked his filth covered face. 

It was then, in the still of the room, that his mind had wandered to the one place he hadn't allowed it to wander yet. He thought of Ginny; her lifeless cold body sprawled out on the wet chamber floor. He thought of Ron; the pain he must have felt when he realized his only sister was beyond rescue. He thought of Mrs. Weasley; cradled in the arms of her grief-stricken husband as she wept uncontrollably for the loss of her daughter. The stream of tears turned into full sobs as Harry tried to block out the thoughts filling his mind. If he'd only been there a few minutes earlier. If he hadn't bothered with Lockhart, perhaps Ginny would still be alive. Tick-tick Tick-tick Tick-tick.

Consumed with sudden madness, Harry leapt to his feet on the creaky spring mattress, and, pulling the clock from the nail, hurdled it against the opposite wall. It smashed in a brilliant display as plastic projectiles shot around the room. A sharp pain coursed through his ribs and he collapsed back to the sheets, hands clutching his side. Breathing heavily through his nose, he tried to reassure himself that he wasn't giving up; he was going to find a way out. 

The soft rattle of the doorknob and click of a lock disengaging drew Harry's attention to the opening door. Rubbing his red eyes, he tried to hide any evidence of his breakdown, scrubbing the remnants of tears from his puffy lids beneath his glasses. Tom stepped over the threshold, hair and jumper dark from apparent rainfall. He tousled the water from the back of his head before removing the soaked sweater and hanging it neatly to dry over the back of a nearby chair. Harry tried to read the expression on his face but it was indiscernible in the dim light. 

"Damned muggles," he snapped bitterly as he tossed a discolored map to the bedside table and unfolded the damp corners. "Between the language barrier and their bloody superstitions, it took me all afternoon in the pouring rain to get some answers. Thankfully, I was able to find an American couple that has been backpacking around Albania for the last two weeks." 

Harry watched the creases on Tom's face deepen as he rambled absentmindedly to the room. It seemed he had forgotten Harry was even there, which suited Harry just fine. Instead, Riddle stared down at the map, his brows furrowed as his eyes scanned the tiny lines in search of something familiar. Finally, he reached out a long finger and pointed to a name. Harry, curiosity peaking, turned his head slightly to read the small print. Berat was not a place he was recognized, but at least he knew where they were.

"We're here," Riddle mused quietly and began tracing the tip of his finger northernly across the smudged paper. He stopped on another name Harry didn't know and tapped it gently, a smile spreading across his lips. "The couple said they experienced something strange while hiking in this region. They described it as demonic." Rolling his eyes, Riddle shook his head slightly. "Despite their stupidity, they gave me all the information I needed." 

Refolding the map, he turned his attention to Harry for the first time, a knowing expression brightening his face as he looked from the boy's disheveled demeanor to the clock pieces littering the room. 

"Something wrong, Harry," he asked in mock concern; his words practically dripping with sarcasm.

Embarrassed, Harry looked away with a small shake of his head. He quickly wiped his face with his filth covered sleeve, just to be sure his flushed cheeks weren't still streaked with tears. It was bad enough that Riddle knew he'd had some sort of tantrum; he wasn't sure he could handle the torment if he knew he'd collapsed into a blubbering mess a few minutes earlier. 

"Good," he replied sharply. "Now, let's get some food before we start our next journey. A muggle was kind enough to lend me some money for dinner." 

He pulled a brown leather bifold from his trouser pockets and waved it playfully for Harry to see. A thousand questions rose to Harry's lips but he quickly choked them back, half afraid of what the answers might be. Instead, he remained seated on the bed, arms wrapped around his raised knees for support.

"I'm not hungry," he lied in a raspy voice. His throat ached for water, but pure pride kept him from agreeing. 

Riddle heaved a sigh and mercilessly grabbed Harry by the forearm and dragged him from the bed. "I don't have time for childish games, Potter. Starve for all I care, but we're leaving now." 

With a quick shove, Harry stumbled and his numb leg sent him crashing to the floor. Stupidity drove him back to his feet in a whirl of anger, fists clenched tight at his side. He glared up at Tom, lips snarled and trembling as he fought back the urge to continue through with his half-witted plan. 

Sneering, Tom narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms. "Go on, Potter," he said with the slightest of amusement. 

Harry took a steadying breath, his teeth grinding back the words that he knew would only bring him pain. Slowly, he backed down, stepping aside to let Riddle pass. The older boy smiled victoriously and, patting Harry on the back, snatched up the map before pulling the sweater back over his head. He opened the door and with a flourish of his hand, motioned Harry through. 

Reaching the landing, Harry was just giving into the idea of eating when two men at the check-in desk caught his attention. They were dressed in pinstripe suits, normal enough for any muggle businessmen, however, this was not the place well-dressed people stayed. His eyes were immediately drawn to the hand resting inside the trouser pocket and his heart gave a jolt as he saw the wood protruding from the clenched fist. He didn't dare to blink, afraid that his mind was playing a nasty trick on him. However, broken fragments of their conversation floated to his ears, confirming his speculations. 

"Young boy… this tall…" The shorter of the two men leveled a hand at his chest in an attempt to convey his meaning. The clerk gave his head a short jerk and shrugged apologetically. 

Knowing that his time was limited, Harry opened his mouth to yell but a hand clamped firmly around him, fingers digging deep into his jaw bone. He was hauled back around the corner, his attempts of running thwarted as Tom pressed him painfully against the wall. Despite his kicking and scratching, Harry wasn't able to pry himself free. 

"Damn it," Tom growled and in the flickering hallway light, Harry could see his mind whirling with escape plans. Pulling Harry away from the wall, he dragged him back up the stairs, his hand still blocking Harry's cry. He gave their door a kick and pushed his way back into their room. 

"Looks like we'll be apparating from here," Tom snarled. 

Harry couldn't let this opportunity slip away from him. Thrashing his head to the side, he freed his mouth enough to sink his teeth into the soft flesh of Tom's top finger. The acrid taste of blood flooded between his teeth and he was rewarded with a slackened grip. Spinning, he lunged for the door handle and wrenched the door open wide. 

'HELP! SOMEONE HELP," he screamed out into the empty hall. 

He managed to get one foot over the threshold before an iron grip yanked his hair back and the world spun violently around him. Between the vise squeezing his lungs and the half scream still lodged in his throat, Harry couldn't breathe. Part of him prayed for death, knowing that nothing could be worse than the wrath he would soon face whenever they reached their next destination.


	5. Five

Sharp rocks tore through the knees of his jeans, cutting into his flesh as he was shoved violently to the ground. The scream caught in his throat came out in a fit of coughs as he tried to regain his breath; the taste of musky air and blood flooding his lungs. Blinking several times to clear the haze of tears streaming from his eyes, Harry tried to get a glimpse of his new surroundings but another shove between his shoulder blades sent him face-first into the dirt. 

"How thick can you possibly be, boy?" Tom snarled from above him. 

Harry tried to scramble to his feet, but sudden pressure across his lower back pinned him to the rocky surface. He felt the twist of Tom's shoe dig into his spine, and he helplessly dug his fingers into the grass ahead of him, trying to escape. 

"Ger off, " he ground out through gritted teeth.

To his surprise, Tom actually removed his foot. Harry quickly rose to his hands and knees but before he could stand, a foot connected with his side, rolling him onto his back. Pain exploded across his torso and the air was forced from his lungs in a feeble cry. Harry clutched his aching stomach only to have another kick catch him on the hip. 

"Is this the help you wanted," Tom asked. He reared back for another kick but stopped, apparently fighting his own desires. He took a shuddering breath and ran a hand through his disheveled hair in an attempt to tidy it. His other hand hung at his side, blood slowly dripping from his mangled finger to the grass below. Closing his eyes, he turned his face to the sky and shook his head. 

"The trace," he said softly and a smile cracked his strained face. "I should have realized traveling with an underage wizard would prove difficult. Now the question is, how do we proceed from here? Should I kill you and be done with it?" 

Fear dulled the pain burning across Harry's body, and he slowly was able to climb to his unsteady feet. He scanned the area around him, only to find they were in a dense forest. No help for miles. Returning his gaze to Tom, he prepared for the worst. 

Tom was regarding him with a thoughtful look, clearly torn between two decisions. However, he slowly pocketed Harry's wand and heaved a low sigh. "I guess we'll finish the rest of our journey without magic." 

Harry didn't know if he felt relieved or weary but he closed his eyes in an attempt to settle his racing heart. At least he still had time to find a way out of this mess. All he needed was more time. 

"Walk," Tom snapped, giving Harry a shove in the direction of a clearing ahead of them. Judging by the orange color of the sky between the thick canopy above, they didn't have long before sunset. 

"Where are we going, " asked Harry as he stepped over a fallen tree branch. The ground was littered with spring growth and remnants of winter's destruction. Above, hidden by the green foliage, birds sang merrily, closing out the day with beautiful music. 

"There's an abandoned house near the base of that ridge ahead of us." 

Harry let his eyes float to the top of the rising cliffs. They were miles away and his spirit dropped. There was no way they would make it before nightfall and something about being in these woods after dark scared him even further. He had been in the Forbidden Forest after dark, but he had had a wand and a Fang. Now, they were facing complete darkness without even a torch to help them. He opened his mouth to express his concerns but Tom cut him off. 

"There's also a small village in the clearing. We'll get what we need there before continuing."

"How do you know this abandoned house is what you're looking for, " Harry asked while massaging his bruised side. 

Riddle sighed as if answering Harry's questions was a waste of his breath. "The couple in Berat said they stumbled upon it. They said when they got near to the house there were no animals and the birds stopped singing." 

"So, you're going off of birds," Harry asked sarcastically. This cheek earned him a slap to the back of his head but Riddle remained silent. 

They came into the clearing after a few minutes of silent walking. Harry didn't know what he had been expecting, but this wasn't it. What Tom referred to as a village was actually a small shop surrounded by a few worn-down houses. No one was on the trash-littered street, but a light shone through the dirt-covered windows of the shop. 

The bell over the door gave a small tinkle as Harry entered the store. A wall of stale cigarette smoke hit him in the face and he crinkled his nose with disgust. Tom pushed past him and quickly began to gather the things they needed all the while being closely watched by the attendant behind the counter. Placing the stuff on the table, Tom threw some money from the stolen bifold beside it. Without speaking, the clerk bagged the items and handed back two coins in change. Apparently, being silent wasn't uncommon for him. 

Once outside, Tom pulled a small roll of gauze from the plastic sack and wound it around his bleeding finger. He shot Harry a look of contempt before tossing him a bag of crisps.

"You can walk and eat right, " he asked while opening his own bag. 

Harry rolled his eyes and followed Tom off the road and along a worn trail in the greening grass. A soft breeze blew through treetops, their emerald leaves dancing in the fading light. He popped a crisp into his dry mouth and forced himself to chew. The food felt nice on his empty gnawing stomach, but what he really wanted was something to wash it down with. Thankfully, Tom chunked a bottle of water at him when he'd finished the bag. Harry quickly gulped down the entire bottle, relishing the cool relief it gave his sore throat. 

As the darkness deepened with the setting sun, Riddle withdrew a torch and flicked it on. Yellow light illuminated the path in front of them, casting eery shadows among the trees. Harry felt anxiety rising inside him with each progressing step. What was waiting for them at the end of this path? 

After what seemed like hours of walking, they reached the base of the ridge. Legs aching, Harry stood with hands planted on his hips staring up the steep incline. 

"This way, " Tom said, breaking the silence for the first time since leaving the town. He was motioning to his left, beyond a thicket of trees where the path ended. 

Their trek took a turn for the worst here. The overgrowth made it hard to navigate while staying close to the ridge. Deep down Harry hoped that they were lost. Several times he thought about turning and running; it would be easy to lose Riddle in the thick underbrush, however, the fear of being lost in the woods at night kept him from following through. He would wait this out and pray they wouldn't find anything. 

Tom stopped abruptly and Harry had to sidestep to keep from running into him. At first, he stared in confusion at the older boy, but then it hit him. The breeze had stopped. Around them, all the familiar sounds of the night had ceased and the air had become unusually heavy. Harry swallowed hard against the lump of terror rising in his throat and squinted ahead of them, past the glow of the torchlight. It was then that he saw a small crumbling house. The roof was caved in on one side and the doors and windows were missing. A mixture of moss and vines had overtaken most of the siding and brick chimney making it difficult to spot among the trees.

Tom took a step forward; the twigs snapping beneath his shoes echoed loudly in the silence. Harry, however, remained rooted to the spot. Running blindly through the forest now seemed like a better idea than facing whatever was inside that house. He instinctively took a retreating step but Tom grabbed him roughly by the upper arm. 

"I don't think so, Potter, " he hissed and Harry could hear the excitement pouring from his words. 

He forced Harry up the rickety stairs, and through the door that had long ago fallen from its hinges. The musty smell of rotting wood and damp earth welcomed them. Heart hammering, Harry peered around the small one-room cabin afraid that the next step would send him crashing through the squeaky floorboards. As Tom shined the beam of light around it came to rest on a large pile of bones in the far corner. Harry grimaced and tried to turn but Tom's tight grip kept him steady. 

A large crash to their right sent Harry's heart into his throat and Tom spun the light in its direction. Something was moving along the wall; creeping slowly from the corner. Something not quite human.


	6. Six

Fear. Pure terror. Body shaking, eyes clenched, all-consuming panic. There were no words to adequately describe the emotion flooding through Harry's veins like ice, chilling him to the bone. Even if Riddle's vise-like grip wasn't holding him in place, Harry wouldn't have been able to move. Every part of him was yelling run but his legs had gone numb as he watched the shadow draw away from the wall in a slow gliding motion. 

On the contrary, Tom was smiling from ear to ear like a child on Christmas morning. He gave Harry an unexpected shove that sent him tumbling to the floor. Quickly, Harry scurried to the opposite wall and watched in horror as the shadow moved closer to Tom who was now blocking the only exit. The dark mass stopped before the teenager, hovering in the torchlight. Tom gave a short nod and the darkness consumed him entirely.

A flash of white-hot light filled the small space, blinding Harry of his surroundings. He turned his head away, shutting his eyes tight to block out the glow but it burned through his eyelids. Then, just as quickly as it had come, it was gone. 

Hesitantly, Harry opened his eyes, blinking away the spots that seemed to be seared into his retinas. The room slowly came back into focus, though he had to squint to make out the finer details. He couldn't miss the figure standing in the door frame, however. Riddle seemed to have aged by several years. He had grown a few considerable inches and his face had become leaner, almost hollow beneath his sleek black hair. However, the most noticeable change was staring directly at him. It was the bright red eyes he had faced a year ago. 

The man examined his bone like fingers before running them over his torso. A smug smile pulled at his thin lips and, as he stood tall, he pulled Harry's wand from the back pocket of his now too short trousers. He gave it a wave, but nothing seemed to happen. Another wave and a bright fire roared to life in the old fireplace. He flourished the wand in front of him once more and this time his black pants and green jumper lengthened to accommodate his new height. He ran a hand through his black hair and took in a deep breath before letting it out in a satisfied sigh. It was then that he turned his full attention to Harry. 

"I was hoping we would meet again, Harry," Voldemort said softly. He lazily closed the gap between them and sat back on his heels. "How happy I am that it was so soon. However, my real concern is, am I able to touch you now?"

Up close Harry could see the familiar features of Tom Riddle still remained, albeit older and more hollowed around the cheeks. He swallowed against his suddenly dry mouth and tried to form a plan but those piercing red eyes made it hard to think. Voldemort raised a skeleton-like hand and placed it against Harry's cheek. Harry tried to cringe away but the wall kept him from moving. The hand slid down his face and came to rest on his neck, the thumb pressing firmly against his windpipe. 

"Are you scared, Harry, " asked Voldemort with mock concern. 

Setting his jaw, Harry gave his head a short shake but the tremble in his lip betrayed him. 

"Stubborn, I like that," he said with a sharp laugh. He dropped his hand from Harry's neck, apparently unscathed. "Your father was a stubborn man too. How old are you, Potter?" 

Something about hearing Voldemort talk about his father replaced Harry's fear with anger. He turned his emerald eyes to stare back into those crimson irises and fixed a defiant scowl on his face. 

Voldemort's lips pulled back revealing his white teeth in a wicked grin. He raised the wand again and pointed it at Harry's chest. 

"Crucio." 

Pain as he'd never felt before coursed through him like lightning, boiling his blood. He fought the scream only for a second before it tore out of him in an animalistic howl. Rolling to his side, he curled in on himself trying to escape a thousand knives that seemed to be piercing his flesh.

Suddenly, the pain was gone. Voldemort pulled him back into a sitting position, the cruel smile still stretched across his face. 

"Let us try that again. How old are you?" 

" Tw…twelve, " Harry stammered as he tried to regain control of his shaking limbs. 

"Twelve?" Voldemort's eyebrows raised in surprise. "My, my. I can not say you are the youngest I have used the Cruciatus curse on but you are perhaps the most enjoyable. See that wasn't so difficult. You will learn it is easier just to answer the first time."

Harry's stomach turned at the image. He closed his eyes in an attempt to slow his ragged breathing, but there was nothing for it. He knew that death was now inevitable but how much pain would he be forced to endure before then? Whatever was to come, he made himself one promise; he wouldn't beg. He wouldn't sit there and play along to Voldemort's sick games. 

Voldemort chuckled and gave Harry's cheek a rough pat before standing up. He ran a hand through his hair again as he paced across the dirty hardwood floor. "So, what do I do with you now, " he pondered out loud.

"The ministry will …" Harry began, his voice stronger than he felt. Rising slowly, he used the wall for support against his quivering legs.

"The ministry will what?" Voldemort asked, spinning on his heel to face Harry. "Use the trace to find you? Oh, my dear boy, that is the first thing I took care of." 

Harry felt his hope plummet. "But how…" 

"Let me enlighten you a little. I have survived these eleven long years by possessing whatever my limited amount of strength would allow me too. It mostly consisted of rats and other small creatures before Quirell came along. I was not able to take full control of him even with his consent. But now, " he paused here, examining his hands once more. "Now, Tom was different. He was apart of my very soul. Think of it as a rebirth more than a possession. I know everything you have been through to get here, including the little stunt you pulled back at the muggle inn." 

Heat flushed Harry's cheeks but he didn't dare drop his gaze; he would not be made to feel ashamed. In the flickering light, he could see Voldemort was still eyeing him thoughtfully, waiting for any sign of emotions. When none surfaced, he turned away to face the fire, hands clasped behind his back. 

Harry's eyes shot to the now vacant door before returning to Voldemort's back. If he could just make it to the woods beyond the house, he stood a better chance of escaping this. Running blindly in the dark was better than sitting there waiting for Voldemort to grow tired of playing with him. He hesitantly took one step in the direction of the door, his heart hammering painfully against the ribs that encaged it.

"We have a lot in common, Harry. Both orphaned with no place to call home except for Hogwarts, The first parseltongue to come to Hogwarts since I was there..." 

Poised on the balls of his trainers, Harry seized his opportunity. With reflexes of a Gryffindor seeker, he took a deep breath and sprinted for the opening. He was only feet from freedom when the invisible ropes wrapped around his ankles, sending him sprawling to the floor. Dozens of splinters embedded into his palms as his hands stretched out to stop his descent, his glasses skidding across the room. 

Voldemort stepped past him and, collecting the glasses, turned to Harry with raised eyebrows. He reached down and pulled Harry to his knees by the front of his shirt before placing the glasses roughly on the bridge of his nose. 

"Let me ask you a question, Potter. If you, by some miracle, made it back to the castle, how are you going to explain what happened," Voldemort asked casually. When he saw the look of confusion on Harry's face, he continued. "Oh come now, boy. You were the last person to see Miss Weasley alive and you were already suspected by many to be the one opening the Chamber of Secrets." 

Harry gaped at him and then shook his head. "Professor Dumbledore knows it wasn't me," he said, not only answering Voldemort's question but also to reassure himself. Now that he thought about it, it didn't look good for him. 

A high pitched laughed rolled from Voldemort, shaking Harry's confidence. "Yes, because that proved well for young Rubeus Hagrid. It surprises me that until the very end you put your trust in the man that left you on your Aunt and Uncle's doorstep without a single explanation." 

A ripple of doubt prickled Harry's brain and he couldn't keep his eyes from dropping. It was true, Professor Dumbledore had not left him in the best of situations, and even after the events last year, he hadn't offered much of an explanation for what had happened in Harry's life. However, none of that mattered now. 

"Better than blindly following someone like you" Harry snapped. He looked up in time to see Voldemort's smile sour. 

"Just like a true Gryffindor; loyal to the end." 

Harry wouldn't allow himself to look away, to show fear even as the wand was pointed at his face. An eternity seemed to pass as Voldemort remained stoic, apparently waiting for just the right moment. In that time, Harry let his mind wander to the unknown. Would it hurt? What was waiting for him? Would he finally be able to see his parents again? 

"And yet," Voldemort said with a sigh, breaking the tension in the room. "I think I can still find use for you." 

As the wand lowered, Harry went through a rapid succession of emotions; shock, relief, disappointment, fear. The mixture of them all made his head swim. What could Voldemort possibly need him alive for? 

Rousing him from his stupor, Voldemort pulled him roughly to his feet, long fingers digging painfully into his bicep. "First, I need to pay an old friend a visit," he said coolly. With that, he turned on the spot, dragging Harry along with him.


	7. Seven

White moonlight washed over the small lane, reflecting off the white gravel beneath their feet. The night was full of sound; the wind rustling the tree leaves above, chirping crickets, and a fountain tricking somewhere in the distance. Ahead, a handsome manor house loomed in the pale light, it's many windows reflecting the starry sky above. Harry allowed himself to be steered up the straight path surrounded by neatly trimmed hedges, his arm held tight in Voldemort's grasp. 

They stopped in front of an ornate oak door, a brass knocker in the shape of a serpent hung in the center. Voldemort reached up with his free hand and gave it three sharp raps before stepping back to wait. His face was impassive as if it were completely normal for a dead man to show up on someone's doorstep in the middle of the night with a twelve-year-old boy in tow. Harry, on the other hand, could feel his stomach churning as the anxiety began to build within him again. 

There was a soft clicking of metal and then the doorknob turned. The door opened wide revealing a small figure in a filth covered pillowcase. It's wide-eyed stare fixed immediately on Voldemort before sliding to Harry, complete shock written all over its wrinkled face. 

Harry's mouth slid open and he barely repressed the gasp that threatened to spill out. Dobby looked just as surprised as Harry felt, but he couldn't let on that they knew each other. Harry locked eyes with him and gave his head a short shake. He could only hope that he understood. 

"Dobby, who the bloody hell is it at this…" Lucius Malfoy stopped dead in his tracks. He was halfway between tying his night coat and smoothing back his messy blonde hair when his eyes landed on the visitors in the doorway. Harry could see the progression from shock to fear transpire on his face as he looked from Voldemort to Harry and then back again. 

"Lucius your house-elf has yet to invite me in, " Voldemort hissed as he pushed past the stunned elf, pulling Harry over the threshold. 

Dobby quickly regained his composure and bowing low enough for his long ears to touch the stone floor, he shut the door with a small thud. He scurried around the room, lighting candles with a snap of his twig-like fingers. The gawdy chandelier burst to life, revealing the gorgeous foyer in which they were standing. Portraits around the room awoke, turning their attention to the center of the commotion. 

"M..my L…lord, " Lucius stuttered. He blinked several times as if to reassure himself he wasn't dreaming. 

Voldemort narrowed his eyes impatiently before stepping closer. "I would very much appreciate a drink, Malfoy, " he said coldly. 

"Y-yes, of course, " replied Lucius, shaking himself from his disbelief. He finished trying his robes and stepped towards the heavy door to his right. 

Once inside in the large room, Harry could see that floor to ceiling windows lined the back wall. Along the others were bookshelves full of large, leather bound books. Voldemort led Harry to a wingback armchair in front of a grand fireplace and indicated for him to sit. Harry, being as stubborn as he was, silently refused. 

"Sit, Potter, " Voldemort snapped, pushing Harry back into the chair. Ropes appeared, tethering his forearms to the wooden arms.

Dobby bustled past, a small goblet of amber liquid sloshing in his hands. He handed it shakily to the Dark Lord before turning to the hearth in front of Harry's chair. Another snap from his fingers set a roaring fire into the grates, washing the room in warm flickering light. His eyes fell to Harry briefly before cowering in the nearby shadows. 

"Forgive me, my Lord for my stunned demeanor, but how is this possible, " Lucius asked finding his voice at last. 

Voldemort swirled his glass before taking a small sip. He fixed Lucius with a cold stare and then withdrew the tattered diary from his back pocket. "Someone has been very careless with my property, " he said tossing the black book across the room to Lucius. 

Mr. Malfoy caught the diary and turned it over in his hands, a terrified look flashing across his eyes. Pale face flushing, he took in a shallow breath. "My only intentions were to carry out our original plan." 

"Your only intentions were to save your own skin," Voldemort corrected. 

"Master, forgive me. I promise my only goal was to see the chamber reopened," Lucius said, kneeling to the carpet. "However, the girl is dead and no trace has come back to you." 

Harry stomach tightened. The familiar prickle of tears stung at the corner of his eyes and without the use of his hands, they tumbled down his face freely. He knew she was gone, but hearing someone else say it made it that much harder to deny. He rubbed his his face helplessly against his shoulder, trying his best to hide his tears. 

"And what about the boy?" 

"The last report from the ministry was that he was in Albania. They were investigating a muggle inn and they heard him yelling upstairs." 

A sharp slap resonated around the room, and Harry's head was forced to the side. Heat washed over the left side of his face and he grimaced, blinking away the bright stars clouding his vision. He turned a surprised look to the man standing over him with vicious grimace pulling at the lines around his mouth . Voldemort raised his hand again, ready for another strike, but he pulled up short. 

"But the only thing they found in the room was the boy's school cloak. They don't suspect anyone is traveling with him," Lucius added as if he hadn't witnessed the attack.

"Where does Dumbledore stand in all of this," asked Voldemort, still trying to regain his calm composure. He narrowed his eyes at Harry before returning his attention to Lucius, rubbing his reddening hand. 

Lucius gave a small sigh, as if talking about Dumbledore was the last thing he wanted to do. "Despite my persuasions, the other school governors have reinstated Dumbledore as Headmaster. He remains adamant that Potter isn't a murderer." 

Relief calmed Harry's nerves. At least Professor Dumbledore was on his side. At least now he had a plan if he somehow managed to escape this mess. 

"And the girl's parents?" 

"The Weasley's" Lucius snarled his nose in disgust, as if he'd smelt something putrid. "They are also convinced Potter was not behind it. However, the ministry is still persuing this as if the boy were a criminal on the run. They have every Auror on the hunt with orders to proceed with caution. They are not sure what Potter is capable of however, after my discussion with the Minister, they think he has all the potential to use Dark Magic."

Harry couldn't repress a snort of disbelief. The corners of his mouth pulled into a incredulous smile and he rolled his eyes to the ceiling. He had no idea what Aurors were but they sounded like wizard police. The idea that they thought a twelve year old boy was capable of any of this seemed absurd. 

"Something funny, Potter?" Voldemort pulled a chair in front of Harry's and sat down facing the boy with a look of mock confusion. He was silhouetted by the fire light behind him, casting his features in an ominous shadow, yet Harry could still see the playfulness in his smile. 

"Nothing," Harry croaked, using his voice for the first time since their arrival. From the corner of his eye, he could see Lucius moving to stand behind the antique sofa, his hands resting on the detailed wooden boarder. The smug look on his face drove all sensibility from Harry's mind. He turned a scathing look to Voldemort and words began to pour from his mouth unfiltered. "You have to be extremely thick to believe a twelve year old boy k-killed," he cursed the break in his voice, but he pressed on strongly, "his best friend's sister and is using magic that he hasn't even learned yet." 

Voldemort raised his eyebrows and tilted his head from side to side in deliberation. "No one said that the ministry officials were bright. They tend to find the best scapegoat and run with it despite the many holes in the story. So," Voldemort paused, his expression changing as he sat his glass aside and leaned forward to observe Harry closer. "I am going to do something I rarely do, Harry. If you will remember I made you an offer at the end of last year. Again, I am willing to offer you my protection from the ministry's persecution and guarantee the safety of all of your friends in exchange for one thing." 

He had to be mental. After all the pain he had caused Harry, did he really think he would join him? And yet... Harry looked away from those piercing eyes, disappointed in himself for even considering the offer. Voldemort had killed his parents; he was the reason Ginny was dead, and yet the idea of keeping his friends out of danger was something worth thinking about. 

Capturing his chin, Voldemort pulled Harry back around to face him. "War is coming, Harry. I can not begin to explain to you what happens to those who find themselves on the wrong side," he said. 

"I'd rather be on the side that doesn't murder anyone, thanks," Harry growled through gritted teeth. 

Leaning closer, Voldemort tightened his grip on Harry's chin, his expression dangerously calm. "Do you know how many people have sat in that chair and dared to be cheeky with me?" His voice was barely above a whisper but he might as well have been yelling in the silent room. "Do you know how many live to tell the tale?" 

Harry swallowed hard against the lump forming in his throat, trying his best to fight down his escalating fear. Something must have shown on his face, because Voldemort lips parted into a cruel sneer. Pride drove him to yank his chin away from the icy grasp, turning his head away from those knowing eyes. A sharp tug against his hair was the first sign of his mistake. 

Voldemort pulled him back by a fist full of hair, causing Harry to arch his back away from the chair. A whimper of pain escaped his lips as he tried to remain perfectly still less he lose a large section of his scalp. He could feel the man standing over him; feel the warm breath on his skin as he leaned in close to speak directly in Harry's ear. 

"There are hundreds of ways to break that uncooperative pride of yours," he hissed giving Harry's hair another tug. 

Harry let out a small cry to the ceiling before grinding his teeth together, refusing to sound as weak as he felt. He screwed up his face and took in several deep breaths from his nose. He would not give into to the panic threatening to devour him. 

Relinquishing the hold on Harry's head, Voldemort reclaimed his seat and crossed his legs. He glared at Harry over steepled fingers, apparently unsatisfied with the defiant look the boy was still wearing. He licked his lips, musing over his next move.

"Lucius," he said finally, turning his red eyes to the man behind the sofa. " You have a cellar, am I correct?" 

Lucius straightened. "Yes, my Lord." 

"Let us hang Mr. Potter up in there until he has learned some manners." 

"Hang him up, sir," Lucius asked, rounding the sofa to stand by Harry's chair. 

Voldemort gave the wand a flick and the ropes binding Harry to the chair vanished. Lucius grabbed him by the front of his shirt and hauld him to his feet as the Dark Lord watched from his seat. 

"By the wrists," explained Voldemort, his eyes locked on Harry, waiting for any sign of emotion. "And use the iron shackles." 

Harry wasn't sure what drove him to it; whether it was the mixture of emotions flooding through him, the self-approving look on Voldemort's face, or just because he knew how angry it would make him. Something made him lock eyes with Voldemort and force a feeble grin on his lips before Lucius pulled him away.


	8. Eight

The air was stale, a mixture of mildew and damp earth, making it hard to breathe. The rough rock walls that encased the room were darkened by condensation as the days grew warmer, thawing the ground from the long winter months. Around the cavernous room were barrels of what seemed to be fine whiskeys aging to perfection. They had been pushed along the walls, making space in the center of the room; space for the young boy who had been hanging there for nearly two days. 

Harry's stomach groaned with hunger for the millionth time that day. It had been ages since his last proper meal and he was beginning to think he would die of starvation long before anything else. Rising to his tip-toes, he stretched his hands up to rub the raw skin beneath the iron shackles, soothing the ache, if only for a minute. 

Lucius had been thoroughly cruel in his execution of Voldemort's orders. He had dragged Harry to the cellar and hung him just high enough for the tips of his toes to reach the ground. If Harry got tired, which was quite often, he would hang by his wrists, swaying from side to side. The shackles were loose enough that they slid easily along the wrists but caught snuggly at the hand. He could possibly break his thumbs and slip out, but even if he had enough nerve to do so, he couldn't get the leverage. 

Yawning, Harry blinked several times trying to chase the urge to sleep from his heavy eyelids. He had dozed off several times while dangling from the end of his chains, only to wake up stiff-armed and aching all over. It was after one of these short naps that he had heard the commotion upstairs. The sound of a dozen muffled footsteps, pleading, screaming; all of these had floated down to the cellar about an hour ago. He had counted himself lucky for being able to get any rest. 

Without warning, his legs gave way and he snapped to the end of the chain. The cuffs caught him at the base of his hand, cold iron cutting into the already raw flesh. A yell rose from somewhere deep in his chest, a mixture of pain and pure frustration at the situation he found himself in. Looking up, he could see the dark red blood beginning to streak from underneath the shackles, rolling slowly towards his filth covered jumper. 

"Great," he said to the empty room. "Just bloody great." 

"Something wrong, Potter?" 

Harry's head snapped up to see Voldemort standing in the door, his arms crossed casually against his chest. He had changed out of the jumper and was now wearing a dark green tweed waistcoat over a white button-down shirt and matching breeches. His hair had also been combed to perfection, and Harry could easily see the resemblance he still held to his younger self. 

The sudden movement caused the metal to rub against the fresh wounds on Harry's wrists, and he let out a growl of annoyance to cover the cry of pain. Quickly, he rose to his tip-toes in order to still his movements.

"You've made your point," Harry snapped irritably.

"And what point is that," asked Voldemort. He shut the door behind him softly before moving closer to the boy. His red eyes traveled up from the snarled face to the blood-smeared shackles, a smile pulling at his lips. "Lucius was particularly thorough with attention to detail, wasn't he?" He reached a pale hand up and ran his cool fingers along the chaffed skin, apparently admiring the work. He was so close now that Harry could smell the whiskey on his breath. 

Instinctively, Harry tried to pull away; instead, his foot slipped against the smooth stone and he fell again. The jolt to his hand brought out a stream of curses as he tried to regain his footing. 

Voldemort chuckled softly. "Need a hand," he asked, grabbing the front of Harry's maroon sweater to stop his swinging. "It is apparent I have not made my point just yet."

"What do you want," Harry implored but even he could hear the exasperation in his tone. 

A hard slap connected with his jaw and the cellar walls spun as he was knocked off his feet once more. He gave up his futile attempts to stop his momentum and he swayed back and forth at the end of the chain, rotating his jaw to relieve the ache. 

Voldemort was still standing in the same spot, his face completely emotionless. He raised his eyebrows and let his eyes follow Harry back and forth, waiting for the best moment to speak again. 

Harry opened his mouth, ready to say something he knew would regret, but the hand struck him again. Stars blossomed before his eyes and he could taste the acrid tang of cooper ooze between his teeth. He cautiously ran his tongue along the back molars, checking to be sure none were missing. When he found them intact, he bared his crimson-stained teeth in a furious grimace. 

"You.. " he began in a low growl but a third strike collided, cutting him short. He coughed out the blood that was now collecting rapidly in his throat, gagging him. Taking in several steadying breaths through his nose, he looked pointedly at the floor, understanding finally washing over him. Voldemort wanted him to cooperate. 

"There's a good boy," Voldemort said with a smile. "Now, are you going to watch your tongue?" 

Harry sucked the blood from his teeth, refusing to answer. He would rather keep quiet than agree to be peaceful. At least this way he could retain some of his dignity. 

Snap! The sound of open palm meeting flesh rang through the room and Harry felt the sting rush across his already reddening cheek. Anger coursed through him like poison, corrupting any of his remaining sensibility. 

"Do you want me to bloody talk or not?" 

This earned him a full-on closed-fist punch that landed directly on his cheekbone. The force sent him spinning and his glasses slipped to the edge of his nose. 

"We can do this all night, Potter," Voldemort said impassively. 

Reclaiming his bearings, Harry tipped his head back, allowing his glasses to slide to the bridge of his nose. He could feel the swelling already forming on his face and the bone-deep ache that accompanied it.

"Are you ready to cooperate?" 

Harry swallowed against the snappy response and instead gave a short nod. He could see Voldemort's eyebrows raise again and his hand splay, readying for another hit. Quickly, Harry gave a reluctant "yes". 

Smiling triumphantly, Voldemort gave the wand a wave and the chain holding Harry to the ceiling lowered until he was able to stand flat-footed on the floor. The relief to his aching hands was immediate and splendid. He stretched his arms up, letting the cuffs slide away from the shallow gashes they had made; thick droplets of blood were still welling up along the lacerations.

"I'm going to be quite honest with you, Potter," Voldemort said, clasping his hand behind his back. "I have given it some thought and I can find no real use for you. You have already refused to join my followers and letting you live is far too dangerous."

Harry's stomach turned, it seemed a violent creature was now trying to claw it's way out. Was he about to die? Would this small dungeon be the last thing that he saw? 

"Your execution is set for tomorrow," he continued nonchalantly as if discussing an itinerary. "However, I do have one more use for you." A malicious grin pulled at the corners of his thin mouth.

Over Voldemort's shoulder, the cellar door opened, revealing a man hidden by a silver mask. The newcomer closed the door and stepped forward, stopping several paces behind Voldemort. He stood tall, awaiting his orders. 

Voldemort gave Harry one last look before turning to greet the man. Slipping his hands into his pockets, he sauntered over until he was standing directly behind him. 

"This is how you prove your loyalty. Go ahead and remove your mask, Severus." 

Harry's jaw fell slack ad he turned his attention back to the man who was now removing his the metal covering his face. The look of loathing those coal-black eyes were giving him was all too familiar.


	9. Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Extreme violence in this chapter. Reader be warned.

"P-professor," Harry stammered, confusion furrowing his brow. 

Ignoring the boy, Snape turned and faced Voldemort with a stony expression. "My Lord, I have assured you of my allegiance." 

"And you will prove it by showing no hesitation in torturing the boy," replied Voldemort shortly 

"You git. You bloody git," Harry spat in disbelief. How could his Professor even be considering this? Sure, Harry had known of Snape's loathing for him, but enough hate to be considering torture? "I knew…" 

A wad of cloth appeared suddenly in Harry's mouth, blocking the remainder of his accusations. He gagged around the sudden intrusion and tried hopelessly to push the obstruction out with his tongue. 

"Do be quiet, Potter, the adults are talking," Voldemort scolded with a one-sided grin. "Now, Severus, I leave the decision up to you."

With a short bow, Snape turned to face Harry once again however, he was sneering at a spot just above his left shoulder. Harry could see the dark sparkle of hatred that normally greeted him during potions class. It was the same one that he'd received at the beginning of term when he and Ron had been dragged to Snape's office; the one that said Harry was in trouble and Snape was going to enjoy rubbing his nose in it. 

The professor raised his wand, brandishing it like a sword, but before he could utter a word, Voldemort interrupted him. 

"Ah Snape, I think something without magic would be better." 

"My Lord," Snape asked taken aback. 

"Something a bit more personal, something you can not easily detach yourself from." 

With a wave of a wand, Voldemort drew a long braided whip from thin air and held the dark leather handle out for Snape to take. "A good, old fashioned whipping should suffice." 

Harry watched as Snape's eyes rested on the weapon being presented to him. Surely he wouldn't take it. Surely he had some decency in him. However, Harry felt his stomach drop as the man reached out a steady hand and wrapped his fingers around the smooth handle; not an ounce of hesitation in his movements. 

Snape paced lazily forward, eyes still examining the whip in his hands. He stopped at arm's length and brought his cold gaze up to the mess of black hair atop Harry's head. His sneer widened as he reached out and pulled the wad of cloth from Harry's mouth, unstoppering the flow of swears. 

"You arse," Harry growled. He swept his tongue around his dry mouth and then over his cracked lips. There was no point in being compliant now. Professor Snape said nothing, instead, he walked around the boy, like a shark circling its prey. 

Instantly, Harry's head swiveled trying to keep an eye on the man. Something about not being able to see what he was planning made Harry's skin crawl. He jerked his head in the other direction but Snape's soft footsteps had stopped. Gritting his teeth, Harry felt his heart begin to race in anticipation. 

A sharp crack rang around the room causing Harry to flinch violently away from the sound; however, no pain accompanied it. He gave an involuntary laugh, fear forcing it from his lips as he shook his head. This couldn't be happening. 

"Something funny, Potter," Professor Snape asked addressing Harry directly for the first time. 

"Y-you can't do this," stuttered Harry, frustration rising at the sound of fear in his voice. 

A soft chuckle answered him and then a burning heat spread across his back followed by another sharp snap. The force knocked him forward and he stumbled to remain upright. He took a sharp inhale but was able to bite back the cry that fought desperately for escape. 

"How is that? Still funny?" 

Crack! Harry's back arched as he tried to escape the pain pulling at his skin. Even through his thick jumper, he could feel the whelps rising along his spine, winding there way up to his shoulder. Tears stung his eyes but, clenching them tight, he held back another wail. 

It only took two more strikes to produce a whimper from his trembling lips. Tears streaked down his flushed face, collecting on his chin before dripping to the stone floor below. 

"That's it, Potter. Now beg me to stop." 

The next strike tore a ragged cry from deep down in his chest. A cool draft washed over his ravaged skin and he realized that part of his shirt had been torn away revealing his bare back for the next lash. The anticipation was nearly as bad as the blow itself, but the sharp pop of leather against skin brought Harry to sobs. 

The final strike was by far the worst. He felt the braided leather tear deep into his skin; he felt the blood rush to the surface before pooling out onto the remainder of his tattered shirt. The sticky material now clung to him, it's color darkening with the more blood it collected. Screaming out in abandon, Harry sagged forward, allowing the chains to catch him. 

"S-stop…p-please," he begged without a second thought. He hated himself for allowing the plea, but he couldn't handle another hit. 

"There's a good boy," praised Snape as he returned to stand in front of Harry. He dropped the whip to the floor beside him, and Harry was horrified to see his blood coating the cords. The sight of it made his stomach turn violently and he retched despite the emptiness of his stomach. 

The professor gave his wand a wave and the chains pulled Harry back to a standing position. Harry's sobs turned into deep deliberate breaths as he regained some form of control over his emotions. He let his head loll back until he was staring at the rough ceiling above fighting for stability.

"Do you know how much I've longed to do that," Snape hissed barely above a whisper. He grabbed Harry roughly by the cheeks and pulled him down to face him; the cold look of loathing radiating from his black merciless eyes. "Since the first day you stepped into my classroom with that arrogant demeanor. Just like your father; stubborn, cocky, pretentious." 

Harry's nostrils flared as anger chased away the pain coursing through his beaten body. He could hear his heart hammering in his ears and everything else faded away. Sucking in what little saliva was left in his mouth, Harry spit a rusty colored mixture of dried blood and spittle into the man's sneering face. 

Shock quickly redirected to fury and suddenly James Potter was standing before him, that pompous smirk taunting him to action. He grabbed him by the throat, his grip tightening until Harry was thrashing for air. The boy kicked out, but the professor seemed unfazed as his crooked teeth bared into a crazed grimace. 

"That will do Severus." 

The voice rang around the room, but it took a minute for Snape to process the command. Reluctantly, he relinquished his hold on the boy's neck and took several steps back. 

Harry sucked in deep breaths of the cold dank air; his lungs expanding painfully to accommodate the change. He coughed violently as his back stretched agonizingly with each breath, pulling the gashes taut across his spine. For a minute the world dimmed, the edges of his vision blurring as he tried to remain conscious. 

"You may go, Snape," Voldemort said with a satisfied nod. 

Professor Snape blinked several times as if the scene before him didn't make sense, and then, with a bow, he left the room. 

Heaving a tired sigh, Voldemort waved his wand and a small plate of sandwiches appeared on the floor below Harry. Another wave and the shackles that had been the source of Harry's agony for two days sprung open, dumping the broken boy to the floor. 

"Rest well, Harry. Tomorrow's a big day," Voldemort said, each word dripping with sarcasm, and he followed Snape out the door.


	10. Ten

Ding...Ding...Ding...Ding...Ding... The soft chime of a clock striking five floated down from somewhere upstairs, echoing eerily throughout the cellar. Each ding would fill the small space and then slowly fade only to be replaced by the next strike of the bell. The only other sound in the room was the stuffy wheezing of the boy who was curled into a ball on the stone floor. 

Harry lay on his side, his bloodied back facing the door. It had been several hours since he had been left alone with only his self-pity to keep him company, but in those hours he had accomplished many things. First, he had managed to find the strength to throw one hell of a tantrum. All the pain that had at first accompanied his movements was lost as he swung the plate of sandwiches against the wooden door that led up into the kitchen. He had then proceeded to yell vulgarities at the door as his fists pounded against the unforgiving frame. He screamed until his chest and throat hurt, but no one answered. Exhausted and in complete agony, he had collapsed back to the floor in defeat. 

It was then that his real emotions took over. This was his last moments on earth; in just a few short hours it would all be over. The thought had sat heavily on his mind for a while, burrowing it's way deep into every crevice until it consumed him completely. He fell apart like a small child, crying uncontrollably as the weight of what he was facing sank in. 

Perhaps worse than the realization that he was about to die was the unknowns that surrounded it. Would it be quick? Would it be just him and Voldemort? Would he be paraded around like a show pony for everyone's enjoyment? Would he be put through more torture for everyone to see? The very idea of being hurt again made his stomach twist into a tight knot. 

Sometime later, after all of his tears were gone and only the puffy eyes and stuffy nose remained, he fell into a fitful sleep. He dreamed he was standing on a platform, a crowd of masked people stood below him, jeering and pointing as he trembled. He turned to run only to find Voldemort standing behind him, that callous smile welcoming him. He said nothing as a wand was raised to point directly between his eyes; the other hand coming slowly up to rest against Harry's cheek. 

Harry awoke with a start, his heart hammering in his dry throat and his extremities tingling. He kept his eyes clenched tight as he reminded himself that it was only a dream, he was still alive…for now. However, the weight on his cheek remained, but it was smaller with thin fingers. 

Opening his eyes, Harry was startled to see Dobby's wide brown eyes peering frightfully down at him. His thin lips broke into a small smile under his long nose when he saw Harry was awake. He scurried backward a few paces, hands wringing nervously in his pillowcase tunic and eyes darting sporadically to the door. 

"H-Harry Potter we m-must hurry," Dobby stammered. 

"Dobby? What are you doing down here?" Harry hissed sitting up despite the burning heat that pulled freshly at his wounds. A sharp pain pulled at his side, stealing his breath, and he was almost certain there were a few broken ribs. He looked to the door and then back to the house-elf shuffling before him. 

"Dobby is saving Harry Potter. Dobby is getting Harry Potter out of here." With this, the house-elf grabbed one of his droopy ears and began to twist it violently. 

Harry, who had seen this behavior before, quickly snatched Dobby's small hands and held them in his own, keeping him from hurting himself further. Dobby muttered frantically under his breath and Harry caught words like, "traitor" and "punished". 

"Dobby I can't let you do this," whispered Harry. "They'll know it was you that helped me and they'll…"

"But Dobby must, sir. Dobby hears what is to happen to Harry Potter tonight. Bad things, sir, and Dobby can't let them do it." 

Harry felt his mouth go dry. "W-what are they planning?" 

"Terrible things, sir. Please don't make Dobby repeat them. Master has Dobby making a meal for several peoples and there has been talks of horrible things." 

A coldness swept through Harry, and he shuddered against his growing fears. So they did plan on making a show of his death. Despite his trembling lips, Harry gave Dobby a shake of his head, hands tightening to keep him from pulling free. 

"Dobby, there's nothing you can do. Go back upstairs." 

"Noooo," the house-elf wailed, eyes turning to the door as they began to fill with sparkling tears. He turned back to Harry and tossed his head from side to side, ears swinging wildly. "No, no, no." 

Without hesitation, and to keep Dobby from making any more of a scene, Harry pulled him into a hug, pressing his small body tightly against his own. He felt the familiar prickle of tears rising to his eyes, and he blinked at the ceiling to keep them at bay. 

"Thank you, Dobby. Thank you for trying to warn me this year." He clenched his eyes closed and the tears began to leak down his cheeks silently. "I'm so sorry I didn't listen to you." 

He held him tighter, and after a second he felt the house-elf go still, all struggling ceasing. Small hands rested lightly on his back just above the whelps and gashes. Harry's lips pulled into a smile as he held back the flood of emotions fighting to break free like water building behind a dam. The small hand balled into a fist behind him, clutching at the little fabric that was left of his shirt, and the other was pulled away. There was a snap of fingers followed by a loud crack and Harry felt himself being pulled off the stone floor as he twisted away into darkness. 

With a soft thump, Harry was deposited onto a polished hardwood floor still clutching the house-elf in his arms. A series of noises erupted behind him; screeching chair legs, hurried footsteps, a gasp of "Harry!"

Harry spared a quick glance for his surroundings finding the Headmaster's office glowing in the golden warmth of the fading sun. Professor Dumbledore had rounded his desk but Harry turned his attention back to Dobby who was fighting frantically once more to break free from his grasp. The house-elf swung his head wildly, trying helplessly to connect it with any solid object in sight.

"Bad, Dobby," he hissed to himself, propelling himself backward in an attempt to throw himself to the floor. 

"Dobby stop, please," Harry pleaded, struggling to keep his grip on the fragile wrists between his hands. He had seen Dobby punish himself before but never like this; nothing like this. 

"Dobby… must… go… back!" 

"You can't, Dobby. Please just listen." 

Despite Harry's tight grip, Dobby broke free and tumbled back out of arm's reach. For a minute he was calm, his crazed attempts at self-harm forgotten; instead, he gave Harry a thoughtful look and then a small smile. 

"Goodbye, Harry Potter." 

"NO, DOBBY!" 

Harry lunged forward, hand outstretched in a desperate attempt to tackle Dobby to the ground; to hold him there and make him understand. He grabbed thin air and crashed to the floor on his hands and knees where Dobby had been standing. Fist clenched, Harry dropped his forehead to the cool hardwood and took in several deep breaths, battling for control over his raging emotions. Dobby was gone.

"Harry?" 

He felt Professor Dumbledore kneel beside him, a hand coming to rest lightly between his shoulder blades. There was a hesitation in his touch as if he were unsure how much damage a simple pat would do. 

A wall broke inside him and every ounce of agony he'd felt flooded through his veins, filling him entirely with overwhelming grief. He pounded his fist in unison against the floor as his chest began to heave out the uncontrollable sobs. This wasn't fair! 

"They'll kill him," he choked out between ragged cries, praying that Dumbledore would contradict him. 

"Harry there's nothing you can do," Dumbledore replied softly and Harry was shocked to hear the sorrow in his voice.

"There has to be something..." He was pleading, begging for a miracle. Part of him knew it was hopeless, but the other part was blind with denial. 

"I'm sorry, Harry. Dobby knew what he would face if he saved you. To him, you were worth it."


	11. Eleven

It was the calmness in Dumbledore's statement that forced Harry's sobs to fade into sniffles. Dobby was gone and there was nothing he could do to change that. He pulled himself onto his knees but the room began to tip nauseatingly from side to side as if they were suddenly on a ship deck. He slumped sideways and Professor Dumbledore caught him. 

"You need the hospital wing," the headmaster declared urgently. He rose to his feet and stooping, picked Harry up gently from the floor. He paused for a minute, examining the clock face beside the door then shook his head. "Not during dinner," he muttered to himself. 

Walking past his desk, Professor Dumbledore carried Harry across the office and, reaching a door, nudged it open with a bump of his foot. Inside was an adjoining living quarter large enough to hold two bookshelves, a small writing desk, and a grand four-poster bed that was neatly adorned with a deep violet duvet and matching hangings. The setting sun showed through two open windows on the west wall, washing the room in fading golden light. 

Dumbledore sat Harry carefully on the edge of the spring mattress, holding his shoulders to keep him from falling sideways. Harry immediately doubled over, arms crossed protectively over his aching ribs. He closed his eyes and took in a deep breath in an attempt to steady the swaying scenery. 

"Can you tell me what hurts, Harry?" Dumbledore had knelt down in front of him, hands still rest reassuringly on his shoulders. "I don't want to lay you down until I know what may be injured." 

Harry opened his eyes and found Dumbledore's blue gaze peering over those half-moon glasses. His thin lips pulled into a comforting smile and Harry felt himself relax. "M-my back and wrists," Harry stammered, trying to find his voice among the ache in his throat. "And…and I think my ribs are…are…" He tried to motion to the bones along his lift side but the movement of his arm took his breath away. He gasped and grimaced, tilting his head slightly as if it would help alleviate the pain. Gritting his teeth, he forced back a wave of sick that was rising threateningly in the back of his throat.

"It's okay," Dumbledore said quickly. Releasing Harry's shoulders, he tugged the duvet back at the corner revealing fluffy white sheets below, and grabbed a pillow from the headboard. "Here, lie down." He guided Harry to his right side, holding back the sheets for him to move under. 

"I…I'll ruin the sheets," Harry said and then flushed with embarrassment. His body was broken and he was worried about getting blood on the bedding. 

Dumbledore smiled and shook his head. "I can get new linens, Harry. Lay down." 

The cool, soft cotton enveloped him, stifling the heat that had been spreading across his aching limbs. He allowed himself to sink into the feather mattress as his eyes fluttered close in relief; he was safe, for now. Except, he couldn't ignore the intense throbbing that rippled across his back like waves on the ocean; pulsing in and out rhythmically. 

"Thadeus," Professor Dumbledore called to a portrait out in the office. He had moved to stand in the doorway, leaning back against the frame, apparently wary of leaving Harry alone. "Find Minerva. She is either at dinner or in her room. Tell her I need her and Poppy in my office immediately. We will need a blood replenishing potion and a potion for dreamless sleep. If she doesn't have any on hand then find Severu…" 

"No!" Harry had sat up, cold fear chasing away any pain he had been feeling. "Please! Anyone but Snape," he pleaded, eyes wide. 

Professor Dumbledore's brows furrowed, apparently caught off guard by the sudden outburst. He studied Harry for a moment and then nodded. "Just Minerva and Poppy, Thadeus. And be discreet. I don't want anyone else to know about this." 

Satisfied with his orders, Dumbledore returned to the bedside and coaxed Harry to lay back down. "Why not Professor Snape, Harry," he asked hesitantly as he pulled the covers back onto Harry's shoulder. 

Harry felt his mouth go dry. He hadn't expected Snape to still be at Hogwarts. Surely, if he was working for Voldemort he would have left; fled in fear. Instead, he had remained and was now only a few floors away. The image of his sneering face as his hand tightened around Harry's neck rose to Harry's mind and he gritted his teeth. 

"He's working for Voldemort," Harry forced out, eyes locked on Dumbledore, watching for any change in emotion. "He tor…did…did this." Unable to stomach the word torture, Harry fumbled for an explanation; for the right words to explain what the Potions Master had done. 

An indiscernible look passed over the old man's face before he dropped his gaze, tongue darting out to wet his dry lips. Every wrinkle upon his face was outlined in the dim reddening light, showing his true age. He seemed to be lost in thought for several minutes, eyes searching his clasped hands for his next words, and then he sighed and spoke slowly. 

"Harry, I need for you to tell me everything that happened." 

The sun had dipped beneath the window sill now, shrouding the room in partial darkness as the shadows overtook the space. In the dimming light, Harry could see the concern staring back at him in those misty blue eyes. Swallowing hard against the rising lump in his throat, Harry searched for the courage to begin his tale. 

"By the time I got into the Chamber of Secrets she was already…already…" His words failed him as a fresh wave of grief rose to the surface, overtaking everything else. How could he possibly explain what had happened when just thinking about it cut him to the core? The images of her lying pale and lifeless on the stone floor were just as vivid now, like it had happened moments ago, not weeks.

However, he was saved from continuing as a sharp rapping echoed from the office door. Seconds later Professor McGonagall entered the room with Madam Pomfrey close on her heels. As she caught sight of Harry, the Professor's hand shot to her lips, stifling a gasp; Madam Pomfrey, however, went straight to work. 

Crossing the room, she deposited two oddly shaped bottles onto the bedside table; one was a bright blue colour, the other a dark rusty red. Harry had just enough time to ponder which was which before the matron swooped down upon him, examining everything in turn as she gingerly pulled him into a sitting position on the edge of the bed. She spared a second to wave her wand and flickering flames burst into life on every candle wick in the room. She started with his face; her slender fingers tracing his cheekbone, applying just enough pressure to reignite the dull ache that had been there earlier. Muttering about deep bruises, she leaned in closer to study the purple splotches that accompanied the swelling. 

"Shackles," she asked abruptly. Her hands had moved to his wrists now, cradling them gently as she looked at the lacerations along the arm. Parts of the dried blood had cracked open, making way for a fresh wave to ooze out. 

Harry nodded but remained silent. Looking around, he could see that Professor Dumbledore was now standing by McGonagall and they were discussing something in a soft whisper. He strained to hear what they were saying but Madam Pomfrey was now diagnosing his condition out loud. 

"Headmaster, he needs St. Mungo's," she said suddenly. Her attention had shifted to his back, and moving around to stand behind Harry, she gently pulled his shirt away. He let out a gasp of pain as her fingers brushed his burning ribs and she quickly pulled away.

"Is there nothing you can do for him, Poppy," asked Dumbledore.

"Whatever made these lashes was coated in some form of poison," she said, running her fingertips along one of the open whelps. Harry grimaced, biting back a yelp. "I could heal them, but it would take weeks and the scaring would be horrible. St. Mungo's has healers and remedies that could fix it in half the time. It would be much safer for Mr. Potter to be under their care." 

"Can you safely treat him here?" 

"Safely? Yes, but St. Mungo's would be…" 

"I would prefer to keep him here as long as you can help him," Dumbledore interrupted, a finality in his tone that left the room silent for some time. 

Madam Pomfrey had frozen, hand still poised on Harry's lower back. He could feel her staring in Dumbledore's direction, apparently shocked by his overruling. 

"Of course, Headmaster," she said, finally finding her voice. "Should we move him to the hospital wing tonight?" 

Dumbledore shook his head. "For now Harry will remain here." 

Harry heard her suck in a shallow breath before answering in a tart voice. "If you wish. I will need to check on him twice a day to apply new ointment and change his bandages." 

A coolness spread across Harry's back and something slimy rolled down his raw skin. His shirt disappeared, replaced by a tightly wrapped bandage. Madam Pomfrey bustled back around into view and with a wave of her wand the same sticky substance was applied to his wrists before the white gauze enclosed them. The agonizing pain dulled to a small sting and Harry was able to take in a deep breath without the annoying pull of skin.

Unstoppering the bottle with the red liquid, Madam Pomfrey poured a large helping into a nearby water goblet. She handed it to Harry, careful not to slosh any of the contents out, and instructed him to drink it all. Peering down, he could see his distorted reflection on the dark ripping surface and his nose snarled in repulsion. He held his breath and tipped the glass back, draining the entirety in one large gulp. It slid thickly down the back of his throat and he gagged despite himself. 

She took the water goblet back and began to fill it with the other potion when Dumbledore stepped forward and raised a hand. 

"Before Harry takes that potion, I need to have a word with him," he said calmly, giving Madam Pomfrey a warm smile.

"Make sure he takes it all," she said in agreeance. "I'll be back in a few hours to be sure the blood replenishing potion has worked." 

"Thank you, Poppy." 

She nodded and left the room without a word, the rapid click-clack of her shoes following her as she shut the door. Professor McGonagall sank into a chair at the writing desk while the Headmaster returned to sit on the edge of the bed once more. He helped adjust the covers as Harry swung his legs back into place and relaxed into the mattress. 

"Now Harry, please continue. What happened after you found miss Weasley?" 

After only a second of hesitation, Harry began the long story that spanned over the last week. He explained how the diary had slowly siphoned Ginny's life away over the year, giving form to Tom Riddle's memory, how they had ended up in Albania and found the shack where Voldemort had been hiding, and his stay a Lucius Malfoy's manor. They remained silent through it all, though Harry caught a glimpse of Professor McGonagall's worried glances in Dumbledore's direction. However, her biggest display of emotions came as Harry described Snape's involvement.

"Severus," she gasped, eyes widening beneath her round glasses. She turned to Dumbledore but he held up a hand, silencing her from further questions. 

"And then Dobby found you," he asked, his voice steady as always. 

Harry nodded, unable to speak. Had they found the empty cellar yet? Was Dobby suffering in his place right now? Ice flooded his stomach and he buried his face deep into the soft pillow. 

"Thank you, Harry. You have shown a great deal of courage for someone so young. Now I can offer you a restful sleep, one without the worry of dreams." 

This potion was much more enjoyable than the first. It went down easily with a hint of something sweet. Immediately, Harry felt himself becoming drowsy, his blinks becoming longer and harder to fight. However, he still had so many questions. 

"Professor, what about the ministry," he asked, his voice thick with sleep.

"There will be time to discuss everything once you've had some rest," Dumbledore said patting Harry's leg and giving him a reassuring smile. He then turned to McGonagall. "Minerva, I need you to go offer my apologies with Poppy. I'm sure she isn't happy with…" 

Harry never found out what she wasn't happy with. The dark room became hazy and before he knew it he'd slipped away into the dark abyss of sleep. 

He awoke groggily to soft voices that seemed to be in the middle of a heated discussion. It didn't matter to him what they were arguing about, all he wanted was to drift back off into oblivion. Clenching his eyes, he willed himself to go back to sleep but the next words rang in his ears, catching his full attention and driving sleep from his mind. 

"Albus, how can you be sure Severus is truly on our side?" Professor McGonagall's voice was strained to remain a whisper. "He nearly killed Harry. Why did he even return?" 

"Because I told him to, Minerva," came Dumbledore's short reply. 

A long pause followed that statement, leaving a tense atmosphere that even Harry could feel. Parting his eyelids slightly, he saw the blurry outline of Professor Dumbledore leaning against the small writing desk, his arms folded across his chest. He stared pointedly at McGonagall before sighing wearily, his hand coming up to rub his eyes underneath the half-moon glasses.

"Severus came to me the night the Dark Mark returned on his arm. I gave him specific orders to do anything to regain Voldemort's trust. How could I have known it would be this?" His hand swept towards where Harry lay and he shook his head in disbelief, his voice cracking just a fraction. 

"You couldn't have," McGonagall replied quietly. "But surely you don't mean for him to remain as the potions professor." 

"What would you have me do, Minerva? Punish Snape for following my orders? This wasn't some easy decision for him." 

"You and I are both aware of the malice he holds for Potter." 

"And you and I both know that this was not in any form connected with that," said Dumbledore with a dangerous hint of disapproval.

Another minute passed in silence before Professor McGonagall sighed softly and spoke again. "I'm sorry, Albus," she said sincerely. 

Harry could see the headmaster wave off her apology as both hands came down to grip the edge of the desk behind him. "I know you are only looking out for Harry's best interest, and for that I thank you. I can only hope that when the time comes, both of them will be able to work through this." 

"Where did we go from here," asked McGonagall, worry evident in her words. 

"We will handle everything as it comes, but as of right now, we are officially at war."


	12. Twelve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's taken so long, I got caught up in other projects. I originally wanted to split this chapter into two pieces, but I couldn't find a good breaking point.

A warm summer breeze blew through the open window bringing with it the sweet smell of grass and afternoon heat. The familiar sounds of evening floated up along with it from the courtyard below; children laughing as they hurried back to the castle before curfew, crickets chirping, and the sweet goodnight song of birds as they bedded down for the night. It would have been a pleasant evening had Harry not been stuck in bed with nothing to preoccupy his wandering mind. 

The potion he had taken the night before had definitely done its job. He had slept all night without even the smallest of dreams, only awakening to have his bandages changed, though he barely remembers it. It was nearly three in the afternoon when he had roused himself fully from sleep, his stomach protesting angrily for some form of food. 

Professor Dumbledore had apparently kept watch over him the entire time; Harry had found him pacing back and forth across the room, hands clasped behind his back. Upon seeing Harry stir, he had quickly inspected the bandages and, finding everything in order, made a stack of sandwiches magically appear on a tray beside the bed. Harry had devoured the stack, thankful for something to subdue the beast within his stomach. 

Now, Harry was propped up by two over-sized pillows, the latest edition of Bloomberg's Best Brooms resting against his raised knees. He scanned the pages filled with all different sorts of broomsticks, pausing occasionally to read about an interesting model. However, even the promise of a new racing broom coming this summer couldn't keep him from thinking about his current predicament. 

A soft rap of knuckles against wood echoed in from the office next door, drawing Harry's attention away from the article he was reading about the history of Cleansweeps. His eyes flicked to the open door and back to the pages, fixing unblinkingly on the small print. He tilted his head slightly, trying to catch the noises coming from the headmaster's office; a click of the door handle turning, the soft footsteps across the threshold, and then the cold draw that made his heart stutter. 

"Headmaster," said the voice of Severus Snape. 

Harry's hands clenched around the magazine he was holding as images of tearing skin and blinding pain consumed his thoughts. Forcing himself to take a deep breath, he reminded himself that he was safe, nothing was going to happen to him here. He relaxed, and turned his attention back to the door, staring at the open frame. Dumbledore was talking but the sound had become muffled and despite his full concentration, Harry couldn't make out the words. 

Setting aside Bloomberg's magazine, Harry slowly pushed himself away from the pillows, swinging his legs tentatively over the mattress edge. He used the corner post of the bed to hoist himself into a semi-standing position and then slowly, painfully, he shuffled his feet towards the door. The whelps along his back seared in protest, but he wanted, no needed, to know what had happened after he had left. 

Out of breath and trembling, he made it to the door and slumped sideways into its frame, bracing himself as his numb legs gave way. He leaned his head against the cool wood, closing his eyes as an onslaught of bright stars obscured his vision. It took several deep breaths to relieve the problem and chase away the ringing in his ears, but he finally could hear the conversation happening in the office. 

"Angry is an understatement," Snape replied to a question Harry had apparently missed. "No one was allowed to leave once the boy was discovered to be missing. I assume he is here somewhere." 

"Yes, Harry is safe within the castle," Dumbledore said but offered no further explanation. "What happened after that?" 

"It took little time to figure out the house-elf was guilty. The Dark Lord used it as an example and killed it instead." 

Harry felt a lump form in his throat and, bringing his hand up to cover his mouth, fought back the cry that wanted to spill out. He knew it was coming; he knew that as soon as Dobby had left the Headmaster's office he was dead, but to hear it confirmed… Harry's stomach turned. 

A long pause proceeded Professor Dumbledore's next request, allowing a deep silence to fill the room and time for Harry to regain his composure. His words came calm and precise, but there was no mistaking the hesitation. 

"Severus, I need you to tell me what happened to Harry."

"I'm sure Potter has already told you," Snape said coldly. 

"He has, "Dumbledore agreed. "But, I would like to hear it from you as well." 

"And why is that?' 

"The form of torture…" 

"I did not choose the method of torture." The coldness in Snape's tone had turned suddenly to anger. "The Dark Lord was very specific on what he wanted. I had to find a way to prove my loyalty without bleeding the boy dry."

"And the choking?"

There was a sound of a chair clattering loudly to the floor and pounding footsteps. Harry took a chance and peered around into the office. Snape was standing by the door, arms crossed over his chest and a livid sneer darkening his face. The chair that he had been previously occupying was lying on its side in front of the Headmaster's desk. 

"I left on your orders. I stood before the Dark Lord and received my punishment for not returning to him sooner because you told me to wait." The man brandished a finger at Dumbledore as if it were a weapon, his voice rising with his temper. "I tortured a twelve-year-old boy because you told me to convince him no matter the cost. And now you have the nerve to sit there and…" 

The office door burst open cutting Snape's rant short as a breathless Professor McGonagall rushed into the room. Her cheeks were flushed and she set a withered hand atop her chest as if she could calm its rapid movements with just a touch. 

"I'm sorry, Headmaster but the Minister is at the gates," she said quickly. Her eyes swept quickly from the overturned chair to Snape's red face, a look of suspicion knitting her brows.

Professor Dumbledore rose from his seat and quickly rounded the desk. Touching Mcgonagall's shoulder he addressed her first. 

"Minerva, go meet Cornelius. Stall him for as long as possible," he said hastily. 

In the bustle of orders, Harry let his attention shift to Snape who was still standing with his arms crossed, surveying the commotion breaking out in front of him. His black eyes flicked up, meeting Harry's with an icy glare. Hatred like nothing Harry had ever felt before bubbled up inside him and he bit his lip to keep from yelling. Snape, however, shook his head and looked away. 

"Severus, we can finish this conversation later," Dumbledore said as Professor McGonagall hurried from the room. 

"As you wish, Headmaster," said Snape with a hint of sarcasm. He swept his long black cloak behind him and followed after McGonagall. 

"Harry?" 

Harry had been so focused on watching Snape leave that he hadn't realized Professor Dumbledore had spotted him in the doorway. He jumped slightly and turned his wide eyes to Dumbledore who had moved to assist him back to bed. 

"Sorry, Professor. I heard voices," Harry began sheepishly but the old man waved him off.

"It's all right, Harry," he said softly and ushered him back under the covers. He swept to the other side of the bed and drew the hangings around with a rattle. "I need you to listen to me very closely now. Whatever you hear, whatever is said, I need you to stay completely still and silent in this bed. Do you understand?" 

The urgency in Dumbledore's voice forced an uncontested nod from Harry despite the many questions rising to his lips. Dumbledore gave him a reassuring smile and drew the remaining curtains closed, casting Harry in shadows. He would be lying if he said his heart wasn't racing; he could practically feel it in his temples.

A loud bang reverberated across the room as a door was thrown open. 

"Where is he, Dumbledore?" came an angry voice Harry did not recognize but assumed to be the Minister of Magic. 

"I am sorry, Headmaster," McGonagall was speaking now, winded but still as sharp as ever. "I tried to tell the Minister that you were busy…" 

"My dear woman, I am the Minister of Magic!" 

"That gives you no right to barge into this office!"

"That will do!" Dumbledore's voice rang over the squabbling pair, silencing them instantly. "Thank you, Minerva. If the Minister is so desperate for a conversation, I will gladly oblige." 

A long silence followed these words, punctuated by a sharp snap as the door was closed once more. Harry narrowed his eyes, staring blindly at the purple curtains ahead of him, willing his pulse to calm just enough so he could hear the voices over its frantic pounding. 

"I know he is here, Albus," Fudge was demanding in a low growl.

"Cornelius, I..."

The sound of footsteps came into the living quarters, rushing from one side of the room and then back to the other. Harry hunkered down into the blankets like a small child waking from a terrifying nightmare, scared that at any moment the curtains hiding him from view would be pulled back. 

"Cornelius!" 

Dumbledore's voice boomed out like a cannon firing just as a hand-pulled back a piece of the fabric surrounding the bed. Harry held his breath as a small sliver of the room came into view. Fudge was standing there, hand outstretched as it held back the curtain, but his eyes were fixed on Dumbledore in a gaping stare. Catching Dumbledore's eye for a fraction of a second, Harry saw the brief shake of the head that told him to remain still.

"I will happily sit down and have a civil conversation about this matter, however, I will not tolerate you pilfering through my personal things." 

"Tolerate? Albus, I have reason to believe that you are hiding a wanted cr…boy." 

The slip of Fudge's tongue did not go unnoticed as he had hoped. So was that it then? Did the entire ministry consider him a criminal? By the piercing look in Dumbledore's eyes, he had caught the sudden change in words as well. 

"So this is the hill you choose to die on, Cornelius," Dumbledore asked incredulously. "That a twelve-year-old boy is a criminal?" 

Harry could see Fudge stiffen before turning his entire body to face Dumbledore, his hand letting go of the curtain to rest firmly on his hips. A trickle of relief allowed Harry to take a deep breath, but he knew it was far from over. 

"The boy was the last one to enter that chamber, he speaks parseltongue; how many more coincidences do you need?"

"He is twelve," Dumbledore reiterated, exasperation clear in his tone. "He has only been at Hogwarts for two years and yet you think he's capable of magic that most adults don't even know." 

"I…"Fudge paused, unsure of how to respond. "I can't explain how dark magic works, but that's neither here nor there. I am here because of a tip that Potter is in this castle." 

"And who was your informant, hmm? If I were a betting man, which I am, my galleons would be on Lucius Malfoy." 

"It doesn't matter who…" 

"Do you wonder," Dumbledore continued as if Fudge hadn't spoken, "how Mr. Malfoy would be privy to such information?" 

"So you admit it," Cornelius yelled like a mad man winning an argument. "You admit the boy is here!"

"Even if he were, I wouldn't tell you." 

A long pause followed the statement, casting the room into a tense silence that even consumed the soft chirps of the birds outside the window. Harry held his breath, afraid that even the slightest exhale would disclose his location. He would have given anything to peer through the curtains to see what was going on, but he held steady. Finally, Fudge broke the silence. 

"Obscuring justice? I would never have dreamed you would stoop so low for the boy." 

It wasn't above a whisper, but the words hung between the two men like a thick fog before Fudge stepped towards the door. The boards creaked beneath his shoes, and Harry could hear him come to an abrupt stop. 

"I'll be back with Aurors…" 

"Cornelius, I am willing to let you speak with Harry, but it will be under my conditions," implored Dumbledore. 

"Your conditions? This isn't a game, Albus. A girl is dead!" 

"And Harry can tell you exactly what happened but it will be here, in my office," Fudge made a noise but Professor Dumbledore raised his voice, drowning out the protest. "And, there will be no Aurors; just you, Harry, and myself." 

"Why would I agree to this," Fudge asked in disbelief. 

"Because this is the only way you get your answers. Harry is terrified and he has been through hell. I won't let you compound it by using him as a scapegoat." 

It took a long minute for the Minister to answer. He seemed to be mulling it over in his head, searching for a better solution; when none came, he conceded. 

"Two days. I'll be back in two days and I want answers," he growled, apparently unhappy about being coerced into such an agreement. 

"And you will have them, "Dumbledore replied shortly.


End file.
